Of the blue moon, crescent like,
An arrow head, hanging over me.
The landscaped night was once,
A waterfall of desire on a clenched soul.
The sun rays were cutting through,
The stones; this time, none is master,
None a disciple either, none in love.
The black clad women, a wish though,
None to judge, and nothing of fortune.
The coming was not unlike going.
No other thought either to think.
Nothing has gone ripened like fruit.
The dry faces, and wet eyes,
All look askance for some happening.
Making the Invisible Visible: artist not known
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Comments about this poem (Some Happening by Sadiqullah Khan )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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